


There's a Party Going on Right Here

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergent, First Kiss, M/M, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Steve POV, everyone lives because reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23556952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: After the Battle of Earth, Tony hosts a party.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 115
Kudos: 747
Collections: Scaramouche's Bite-Sized Prompt Ficlets





	There's a Party Going on Right Here

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on tumblr requested a fic where Steve winks at Tony. This spiraled out from that.

When Tony told the team that he was thinking of having a few people over at the lake house today, Steve foresaw two possibilities: one, a handful of Avengers crowded on the porch in a rather more cheerful reprise of their time travel proposal of a few weeks ago; two, a full-on party.

They got the party.

Where on earth Tony got the canopies and catering a mere day after the Battle of Earth (as they’re calling it), Steve has no idea, but here they are. Avengers – core, new, ancillaries, allies, friends and loved ones – flood the grounds of Tony’s deceptively rustic home, eating and drinking and laughing and showing off their abilities. Luckily it’s a daytime gathering so alcohol is less an issue thus far; it’s daytime to accommodate Morgan, of course, who declared herself a VVIP earlier and is being bolstered around on Tony’s arm as he introduces her to everyone.

Not that Steve’s been watching them (Tony) walk around and play host, Morgan quietly excited and her father looser and more upbeat than Steve’s seen him in literal years. And even if Steve _is_ watching Tony, it’s only out of concern that Tony not push himself, not after the close call with Thanos, the other close call with the gauntlet, and the freshly accumulated stress of the past five years leading into a one-chance time heist. The episode isn’t even really settled yet, what with the stones under lock and key somewhere in these very grounds, since the compound is a square mile of rubble and very few places on earth are safer than an Avengers tea party slash mosh pit.

Still, it pays to be vigilant. On Tony. Due to his health, and his status as the focal point for today’s gathering.

So Steve tells himself.

He used to be better at papering over his own motivations. If anyone asked, he’d say that he’s distracted from the party by thoughts of tomorrow. There’s still a lot of work to come – rebuilding, networking, accommodating the return of half the world’s population and all its associated complicated trauma – which is so beyond the Avengers’ original purview that they might not even need the team for that. It’s Natasha’s call, anyway. Steve will probably follow her. Clint brought Laura and kids today, but he’ll be leaving tonight. Bruce has his own work elsewhere now. As for Tony, no one knows what the hell he’s going to do next.

Steve certainly doesn’t expect Tony to be approaching him _now_ , with Morgan still making a swing of the crook of Tony’s arm.

“Here you go.” Tony practically tosses a laughing Morgan at Steve. “Free up my hands for me, won’t you?”

“Sure thing,” Steve says, having accepted he’d never _not_ do anything Tony asks of him ever again. Steve adjusts his grip on Morgan in one arm, and puts his plate down on a nearby table with his free hand. Morgan beams at him, while at the corner of Steve’s eye he just catches Tony’s stuttering smile, as though he hadn’t expected Steve to roll with it.

“You want a drink?” Tony says, eyeing the nearest table spread. “I’m up for refuelling.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Steve says.

“Wasn’t asking you,” Tony says.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “That’s kind of rude.”

“Yeah, rude,” Morgan parrots, while Tony presses an outraged hand to chest. “He wants lemonade.”

“I would like lemonade,” Steve says agreeably.

“Geez, all right, as the lady demands,” Tony says as he bounds off.

“The lemonade’s good?” Steve asks Morgan.

Morgan shrugs. “I don’t know. We can try.”

Steve’s never held Morgan before, or talked to her properly before today, but this feels a natural extension of the rhythm he’s found again with Tony – the focus of shared goals and risks, the ribbing without hurt, the ability to be earnest without mockery – since that fateful day Tony rolled back up to the compound armed with little more than hope and a time travel GPS olive branch. But that’s not entirely right either, because they never had this easy rhythm off the battlefield before. It was only in the shattering and its aftermath – and Steve’s learning the hard way that he had so much more to lose in the 21st century than he thought – that they’d found this.

“Are you staying here with your dad tonight?” Steve says. “Or are you going back with your mom?”

“Going,” Morgan says. “Too many people for sleepover.”

“Makes sense,” Steve agrees, looking out on the raucous mass with her. “It’s a lot of people. Do you remember everyone’s names?”

“Yes,” Morgan says, intense and offended. She presses a palm against Steve’s forehead. “Captain Thor.”

“Actually—”

“Captain Thor with the hammer. May I see it? Thank you.”

“You’re not tired of that,” Steve says dryly.

“No.”

“You know you can just ask _actual_ Thor—”

“Captain Thor.”

Steve sighs dramatically, which only prompts Morgan to loop both arms around his neck expectantly. He does a quick surroundings check –Thor’s just a couple of feet away chatting with T’Challa and Hope, and Tony’s coming back over with a paper plate of pizza on one hand and a pair of lemonade bottles gripped in the other – and lifts his free hand.

Physically, it’s very different from the control he exerts on the shield. Mentally, the two are strangely similar, for much like how Steve just _knows_ the shield’s trajectory at each throw, he _knows_ that Mjolnir is coming to him. Today, the hammer sails in a parabolic arc, over the crowd spread across the lawn, and into Steve’s hand. There’s only a minor crackle of electricity in Steve’s palm when it lands, and it says a lot about the people present that barely anyone notices any of this.

Morgan bobs her head silently in approval.

Nearby, Tony huffs under his breath between bites of his pizza. The lemonade bottles are consigned to the table by Steve’s plate, though sadly Steve’s hands are preoccupied at the moment.

“Which reminds me,” he says, “no way that was your first time holding the hammer.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve replies, twirling said hammer on its handle.

“Right.” Tony holds out a mushroom slice to Morgan, who eats it without taking her eyes of the hammer. Tony’s smile is pure fondness, the kind of which sends somewhat intense flips in Steve’s stomach. It doesn’t matter that the smile is for Morgan; it just takes Steve’s breath away that Tony has so much love in him and, no matter that things didn’t shake out too well with Pepper, he still has unconditional outlets for that love. When Tony’s attention shifts to Steve, so does his expression to one of familiar wryness, “You knew _exactly_ how to double-wield the hammer with the shield.”

Steve hums neutrally.

“How long you been messing with the hammer without us knowing, Steve?” Tony says.

“How long, Steve?” Morgan chimes in.

“Just a few times, back when we were in the Tower. Which was wrong of me,” Steve says meaningfully to Morgan. “You shouldn’t keep big things like that from your friends.”

Morgan’s focus is elsewhere, though. She’s twisting her mouth in cheeky thoughtfulness – she definitely got that from Tony – and holds a hand out. Steve obliges, and adjusts his grip on Mjolnir before holding the handle out to her.

Morgan tentatively wraps one hand around the handle. Steve eases his grip to the back of Mjolnir’s head, and subtly moves the hammer along with her.

“Worthy,” Morgan whispers.

Steve, grinning, slants a look over at her father and winks.

Tony startles and drops his pizza slice. Not the ground, which would have been neater, but to his shirt, at which the slice flips and flops while Tony scrambles, flails and fumbles, getting sauce and cheese everywhere, before finally salvaging it by stuffing the whole thing into his mouth.

“Butterfingers,” Morgan says primly.

Tony munches furiously, and does not look at either of them. While his daughter continues to bob Mjolnir against Steve’s hand, Steve’s captivated by the pink at Tony’s neck – a lack of sunscreen, or something else? It cannot be something else, because that would be ludicrous. Except.

“Goddamn,” Tony mutters. His eyes dart around wildly, and only for a mere split-second land on Steve before moving away again. Steve feels a prickle up his spine, along with a sense of anticipation and urgency, though without a clear goal to be seen. He’s seen Tony flustered before, but never like this, never because of _him_.

“Gotta clean up. You watch the madame, yeah?” Tony clears his throat and starts walking away from them, stiff footsteps towards the house.

Steve watches him go, heart hammering loudly over Morgan’s humming a tune to herself.

A shadow falls over them as Bruce approaches. “Excuse me,” Bruce says. “Hi Morgan, do you want another ride?”

“Yesssss.” Morgan lifts her hands up eagerly.

While Bruce sweeps Morgan up onto a massive bicep, Thor appears by Steve’s other side, a hand immediately clamping around Mjolnir. “I’ll take that.”

“And I,” Natasha says, sliding around all three men to take Steve’s plate and lemonade from the table, “will take care of this.”

“What?” Steve says.

The three of them pointedly move away from him, focused on and chatting with Morgan as they go. Steve’s head swivels back and forth and back, before a sharp _oh_ sends his limbs into action, pushing him into a quick jog that follows Tony’s path up to the house.

Tony’s already inside, having disappeared behind the front door. The whole house technically isn’t off-limits to guests, but FRIDAY has been pretty stern about who gets to come in (and even then, only because the garden bathrooms are occupied). She doesn’t say a word when Steve enters, though, so he follows the sound of running water to the kitchen, where Tony is washing his hands in the sink.

“Like an amateur, really,” Tony says under his breath.

“Hey,” Steve says, which doesn’t get much of a response beyond Tony’s increasingly furious scrubbing of his hands. “You want me to get a change of shirt for you?”

“Right,” Tony says, “because you know where my wardrobe is.”

Steve’s face grows warm, but he presses on, compelled by Tony’s not immediately kicking him out. “Would you buy that as a poor excuse to explore your house? Which is very nice, by the way.”

Tony mumbles under his breath. Frowning he may be, but he isn’t actually angry. Steve unfortunately knows what Tony’s anger looks like, and this is more embarrassed annoyance. Tony turns off faucet off and scowls when Steve offers him a drying cloth. He still takes it, though, and after drying his hands, dabs it at his stained shirt.

“Be careful,” Steve says, “your arm—”

“Oh my god, you can’t quit!” Tony exclaims. “You do not know how to quit! Wait, I shouldn’t be surprised by that.”

“Are you upset at me? Morgan’s with Bruce, I didn’t abandon her—”

“Why are you like this _now_?” Tony’s voice is shrill. “Why are you so wonderful _now_? Morgan can’t get enough of you, which is bad enough, but now the fight’s over and we did what we needed to do, and you’re still so—you’re so...”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says quietly. “I know, I should’ve done better by you from the very start. But I’m trying, I’m really—”

“That’s not what I...” Tony shakes his head, a rapid side-to-side motion as though the man’s deeply rattled and has to express it physically. He sighs, the sound resigned and exasperated; it’s apparently a prelude to his tossing the dry cloth away and launching himself at Steve.

Tony’s lips are warm and soft and taste of tomato sauce. Steve doesn’t kiss back, too shocked as he is by the motion at all, which is over before he can even process it. His mouth tingles with the aftertaste, and the rest of him tingles at the depth of Tony’s wide eyes, filled as they are with hope and fear and surprise. Steve’s heart goes into double-time.

“Uh,” Tony says.

Steve kisses back. His hands find Tony’s cheeks, his palms brushing Tony’s facial hair in holding him close. Tony’s hands come to Steve’s waist, fingers digging in to the muscle as though making sure that he’s really there. Steve presses in, breathing rapidly through his nose as he does, and finds Tony’s mouth hot and wet and open.

In the deepening of the kiss comes a collective cosmic exhale. There will have to be talking later, which may help slow the dizzy, confused, ecstatic whirl that is in Steve’s brain, but that is later. For now he’s been given a gift, and he is not strong enough to _not_ grab at it with both hands.

“Gonna mess up your shirt—” Tony says against Steve’s jaw.

“Priorities,” Steve says sternly. He comes back in for another kiss and Tony hums an agreement against his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on tumblr!](https://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/614898560510607360/hi-annie-may-i-request-a-ficlet-with-steve)


End file.
